Me & the Proverbs 31 Woman
Sometimes I like this passage of scripture. Sometimes I do not. The “Proverbs 31 Woman” inspires me on a good day, but she haunts me on a bad one. This scripture was in my head today (guilty conscience, I think) so I decided to read it tonight, and take inventory. What follows is part serious, part tongue-in-cheek, but all honest. (The scripture part is in italics, and Proverbs 31:10-31, The New American Bible)
When one finds a worthy wife,
Her value is far beyond pearls.
That’s why engagement rings have a diamond, not a pearl.
Her husband, entrusting his heart to her,
Has an unfailing prize.
She brings him good, and not evil,
All the days of her life.
Well, I try.
She obtains wool and flax,
And makes cloth with skillful hands.
I guess I should get a sheep.
Like merchant ships,
She secures her provisions from afar.
I secure my provisions from Sam’s Club. That’s afar.
She rises while it is still night,
And distributes food to her household.
I rise at dawn, so I can sneak out for a run, lest I get stuck having to fill someone’s sippy cup.
She picks out a field to purchase;
Out of her earnings, she plants a vineyard.
Matt picks out the fields. I planted a garden this year. It was a total failure.
She is girt about with strength,
And sturdy are her arms.
Because I pack children around all day. Able-bodied heavy children.
She enjoys the success of her dealings;
At night her lamp is undimmed.
I like it when people pay their bill. I like it when I sell stuff on Etsy. My lamp is undimmed because I’m blogging.
She puts her hands to the distaff,
And her fingers ply the spindle.
I don’t do this.
She reaches out her hands to the poor,
And extends her arms to the needy.
I help people minimize their income tax liability, thereby preventing them from becoming “the poor.”
She fears not the snow for her household;
All her charges are doubly clothed.
And they all have gum boots.
She makes her own coverlets;
Fine linen and purple are her clothing.
Fine sweatpants and paint-spattered are my clothing, though I have been known to make a blanket, or two.
Her husband is prominent at the city gates
As he sits with the elders of the land.
He talks with the guys at the auto parts store. And at the elevator.
She makes garments and sells them,
And stocks the merchants with belts.
I make aprons for sale on etsy.com.
She is clothed with strength and dignity,
And she laughs at the days to come.
Yes, strength, dignity, and sweatpants; I laugh because it’s better than crying.
She opens her mouth in wisdom,
And on her tongue is kindly counsel.
People pay me for tax advice. And, I’m pretty nice about it.
She watches the conduct of her household,
And eats not her food in idleness.
I enforce time-outs. And I sneak M&Ms during naptime.
Her children rise up and praise her;
“You’re the best ever mommy; the best mommy ever!”
“Good supper, mom.”
Her husband too, extols her:
“Many are the women of proven worth,
But you have excelled them all.”
Yep, that’s pretty much what Matt says.
Charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting;
The woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
Give her a reward of her labors,
And let her works praise her at the city gates.
A full night of sleep would be nice, once in a while, too.
So, there you have it, a quick, very literal inventory of my womanly worth.
Now, for a couple brief updates on what I haven't blogged since the last post:
Grandma Elizabeth fell in May and broke three ribs. After a week in the hospital, she's been in the nursing home since. Hopefully, she'll be able to live on her own again. At any rate, I really don't see the harm in letting her try, if that's what she prefers.
We lost our dog, Ernie, to kidney failure in May. He would have been 10 in November. My dog Maggie was Ernie's mother, and I gave him to Matt when I was a sophomore in college after we'd been dating a little over a year.
John had his routine CT and MIBG scans the last week of June. Both scans showed there is no active neuroblastoma in his body, which means he won't have another scan for a whole year, just a urine test in December. That's incredible to me. Three years ago this summer, I feared he would not see his first birthday, and now, he's nearly four years old, and cancer-free. John is healed, and I pray that he will stay healed.
He is healed, and I pray that I will be one day too. But I fear I will never be. I will never know normal. So much has changed since that summer he was diagnosed. I no longer carry a thermometer in my purse. Or EMLA cream. I don't have his oncology nurse-practitioner's pager number memorized. I don't panic if the gas tank gets below 1/2 full (we always kept it filled up in case we had to make a quick trip to Columbia). I don't pin a medal to John's shirt every morning, and I don't wear one that matches around my neck every day (mostly because PW would break the chain if I did.)
But a lot of stuff hasn't changed. I feel a twinge of panic when he tells me he has a tummyache. Or a cold sore. Or a bug bite. If he doesn't take a nap for a week, I panic because of his restlessness. If he naps faithfully everyday for a week, I panic because I worry about why he's so apparently exhausted. If he wakes up sweaty, I panic. If he feels a little warm, I whip out the thermometer, pronto. (Fevers and nightsweats can be tumor symptoms).
When PW is unusually crabby and clingy, I fear that he has cancer and briefly toy with the idea of calling his pediatrician to have a urine study done to check for neuroblastoma. I did even do this once, and she agreed to it, bless her heart.
Enough of that. I guess my recovery will be a lifelong process.
What else?
Patrick has started talking...single words, unintelligible to all except his family. Like John at this age, "socks" and "hot" are among his first words. Recently he's added "boots"; and it really frustrates John when PW picks up a shoe or a sandal and calls it a "boot." He's very proficient at animal noises. He loves to watch TV, and Shrek is his favorite movie. I am ashamed of this fact. But he also really, really loves books. He even enjoys "reading" them on his own, not just being read to. And, what's even better, John likes to read to PW, and PW likes John to read to him. This is a wonderful thing in my life. I really find Patrick's love of books and TV/movies amusing, as John was indifferent to the television, and he downright loathed books of any kind until after his second birthday. Patrick is very fond of both Papa Larry and Papa Dennis. His favorite foods include grapes and dill pickles, and he has an insatiable sweet tooth that rivals my own. He's also trying to learn to jump off furniture, which makes my heart stop several times a day.
John never stops talking, and it's hard to believe that a little more than a year ago, he could barely express himself verbally. One of my favorite things to do is to eavesdrop on the conversations he has while he's playing. Invariably, the scenes he acts out with his cars or trains involve someone's birthday party. About a week ago, he told me, "Mom, I am very angry. I am very angry because Levi is having a baby sister, and her name is Car-wee, and you know that I want to have a baby sister. And I want one." This went on and on as I kept explaining to him that it's hard to get a baby sister and maybe it would be ok if he had another baby brother. And, clearly frustrated, he would again explain to me that he is very angry (specifically angry and me and not Levi or anyone else) and so on and so forth. Obviously, he thinks the only thing keeping him from having his very own baby sister is his own mother's stubborn unwillingness to get him one. (I am, by the way, not presently pregnant). John is unbelievably sweet and lovable, but also short-fused, independent, and bitterly determined against anything he decides to be bitterly determined against, including using scissors properly, eating scrambled eggs, and receiving any kind of assistance in getting into or out of a shopping cart.
Hopefully, I'll post again in less than 3 months!
bdc
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